


The End of the World, pt. I

by hongmunmu



Series: the End of the World [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Codex Entries (Dragon Age), M/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hongmunmu/pseuds/hongmunmu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein the Inquisitor and Dorian never returned from the future, and it was real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the World, pt. I

**Notes On Mages**

_(Many words are misspelled. In several places the paper is torn or thinned from how harshly an incorrect word was crossed out. The handwriting is not unlike a childs’.)_

Fighting for a blood mage can be as unpleasant as fighting against one. To act as a fountain for ~~manner~~ ~~m~~ mana is a harrowing experience in itself, but to act as a fountain for blood is entirely different. A common ~~misconsep~~ ~~misscon~~ misunderstanding of blood magic is that it draws upon the energy of the blood itself – this is incorrect. For both caster and sacrifice, blood magic will change both; once mana has been drawn from blood, a permanent link has been made to the very life energy of that from which the blood was drawn. It is what allows the blackest magic – control of body and mind – to be performed; a link to all the soul in one’s body. Even fighting in servitude for one who has not yet resigned themselves to the temptations of demons can have the same effect, if not in a literal sense then in a psychological. What many do not understand is that magic is a pervasive and constant energy. It is matter, just as air is matter, and has the same presence as such. This is how a mage would have the ability to crack a piece of rock from a cliff, and hurl it with no more than a motion of their arm; it is a natural connection, and command thereof, to the magical energy in the area.

As such, mages have a presence; one that can be used for good or ill. Fighting for a bad-tempered witch can influence one’s own mood, spur them into damaging their enemies harder, faster – or making a reckless motion and ending with a spear through the heart. Spend a great deal of time in the presence and company of the malicious magically talented and one may find themselves questioning their own intrusive thoughts. It happens even now.

Yet with dark comes light, and perhaps it is these terrible truths that make the alternative so much kinder. For fighting with a mage who means you well is more akin to having the Maker’s own luck bestowed upon you. As I have said, mages have an aura – to fight in the presence of a healer will leave one finding their pain diminished, their injuries lesser, their exhaustion reduced. Watching for friendly fire - ensuring one does not end up frozen or disintegrated alongside their enemies - no longer becomes a worry; as though from a benign mind comes benign lightning. Though perhaps the enemy would disagree.

Fight with a skilled mage on your side, and it is the same as having Andraste herself guide your sword with her two hands. It is as the Maker’s holy wind behind your back.

_(The end of the entry is marked here.)_

**A Note In An Unused Journal Page**

Remember when I said Tevinter was probably great?

Ha!

_(The last word is written in extremely large handwriting, and has been embellished and illustrated with outlines, frames, and religious imagery.)_

**Recorded Mutterings Of An Odd, Pale Young Man**

He can’t go through the flesh any more, he said. _I_ told him; you can pass through me, but he refused! He can’t _and_ he doesn’t want to. Is there a difference? I was wondering why he hadn’t done it in a while.

 

**A Poorly-Spelled Letter, Delivered By Hand To Everyone In Denerim**

Are you addicted to RED LYRIUM?

Are you experiencing severe ABDOMINAL PAIN, cramps, seizures, foot pain, leg pain, arm pain, PAIN IN YOUR STONES? Pain EVERYWHERE?

Have you noticed RED CRACKS appearing in various areas of your body?

C O N G R A T U L A T I O N S !

You’re going to die. Please stay away from the alienage and the Pearl.  Thank you!

**Murmurs Of A Compassion Spirit**

Fire in my veins. Wine in my veins. Veins in my veins. Tongue touching teeth, torture to the last tincture of toxins he puts down my throat to make me mouldable like I was red Seheron clay. The only way through a locked door is through, and the only way to a heart is through, and the only way to cross the Ventosus Straits is through, and the only way to bypass Qarinus is through, and the only way to leave a cage is through, and the only…

_(The spirit continues to mumble in such a manner, and appears to have no intention of stopping.)_

**A Rushed Note**

Kitten, I’m sorry. But there are some people you can’t heal, can’t change, and can’t make better, and I’ve always been one of them. But I have to go, and flowers can’t grow at sea.

Please say bye to Varric for me.

_(The vellum smells like salt water.)_

**Memories Held By A Spirit Of Love**

I wanted to tell him there was stars in his body, but he’d probably have slapped me, and then himself just for the sheer embarrassment. But I did tell him his eyes were like the Wending Wood, and I refrained from telling him he himself was not unlike its’ denizens, of which there are – or perhaps were is the appropriate word – many, in varied demeanour and form. And perhaps he was less fond of touch than was average, but one does not need be reading a book to know that they have enjoyed it, and one does not need be within their home to know that they love it dearly.

We were a crossing of arteries and magic at a time we needed it most, and while it may have seemed odd at first, a spat of hostile opposing forces, I have found that in this world there are many things unexpected and strange and radiant, and he was one of them.

 

**A Diary Entry Written Late At Night**

Hawke,

Well, you’ve set it in stone. You really were holding everything together, huh?

Lowtown got overrun. The Veil was weak over Kirkwall to begin with, but Andraste’s ass, even you would not believe the amount of demons I’ve seen. I suppose the Hanged Man figured without you, me or Isabela, it didn’t have much left going for it, huh? My fault, I’ll admit, but I guess once in a while it’s good practice to not take a back seat in the end of the world as you and I knew it.

Still no word from Isabela or Fenris. Or Blondie. Or you. You’d better get on that.

Sebastian writes a little too much. Grinds a bit. I think I liked him more when Fenris was around.

Merrill and I are awful close these days. Not really anyone left.

Varric

P.S. I'm on 567 now.

**A Mage’s Journal Entry**

What? What can I do?

_(The next few sentences are crossed out. Lower down the page are some shakily drawn, messy pictures of cats, and an slightly inaccurate transcription of the lyrics to an old Ferelden tavern cheer. Some lines have been skipped, due to poor memory.)_

**An Unsent Letter Found In A Noble’s Ruined Home**

My dear Ozzy,

I’m sure you know by now that the Venatori are upon Orlais. They span in small groups; I have had run-ins daily! Thankfully, the little ones don’t take long to dispatch. Some days I wonder if I would have been better off in the Circle, after all- you’ve heard how they’re taking those willing to submit under their collective wing? Of course, that may be an outdated offer, now that their supposed lieutenant has vanished. Should you have already left for the Wycome Circle, however, all I can say is – good on you. I can only hope this letter reaches you.

Myself, I never had a chance. My pride would simply not allow it, dear boy. Whatever you choose to do with the time you have remaining, I salute you. Cherette and I, we shall simply dance, feast and sing till’ they are upon us. And we shall keep singing! Right until the moment they sever our heads from our bodies. We shall not lose heart in the face of death. Even if it is in resignation, dear boy! Sometimes surrender is worth the poetic beauty.

I understand if perhaps you scoff at this letter. But the truth is, my soldier, I was not built to survive. I cannot flee like the servants, find a ship and vanish to the East. I have a name to represent, and a line to end in style.

Until we meet in the afterlife, my dear.

Julien

**A Blood-Stained Note**

Edith,

Please know I died thinking only of you. Please do not forget

_(The author did not finish writing this.)_

**Memories Caught In A Lyrium Vein**

_(An overwhelming sense of discomfort emanates from these memories.)_

They’re coming – they’re around the corner, I saw them, I’m sure I did. I’m afraid. I don’t want to die.

_(Panting.)_

Perhaps they’re not there- perhaps it’s just- just the stones, playing a trick on me, yes? The bright pretty blue. Always lying, yes, always being tricky – like the missus -

Please, oh, shit, Maker, Andraste, Creators, Korth, Koslun – _are there any more?_ \- they’re here –

It’s too much, I can’t bear to see the world like this. No, not like this– not like this.

I want to be at Tapster’s again.

_(Screaming.)_

 

 

**A Letter Written In A Shaking Hand**

Varric,

The first thing I’ll say to you is this: don’t tear up this letter. It seems once again, I’m the harbinger of all things bad in your eyes, and I’m sorry – but I won’t dally. Fenris is dead. It’s likely that by the time this message gets to you, I’ll have dropped off the mortal coil, as well. The Calling is no longer quiet enough for me to ignore – and even if it was, I’ve been doing that for long enough – though I’m under no illusions that I’ll meet a heroic death in the Deep Roads, a sentiment I’m certain you share.

I’d like to pretend that my taint will go away, they’ll return from the dead without any heroicism or lyrium death sentences, Isabela will come back, Sebastian will drop his burning, passionate hatred of me, and we’ll all find our way back to each other. But until I get a few more signs of the likelihood of that increasing, I’m heading to Vigil’s Keep. I’ll help out the Commander for as long as I can. Maybe I can see Pounce again, as well.

I don’t know the situation in Kirkwall, at the moment. Last word I got was Lowtown being shut off. For now, I’ll just assume that you’re still alive. For everyone’s sake.

I ended his life, Varric. Hate me if you must but know that what I did was kinder than what his markings had in store for him. I couldn’t sit by and watch. You would have done the same, if you’d seen him. At least Hawke’s not alone any more.

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

A

_(Water stains have smudged the rest of the signature.)_

**A Journal Entry**

_(The writing is childlike, but all spelling is correct. Red lyrium crystals have started to form around the edges of the page.)_

I will weather the storm. I will touch the light.

 

**A Journal Entry**

I ate the light.

_(This is the last coherent entry in the book; all subsequent entries are unreadable. The ink glows red.)_


End file.
